


We will all go together when we go.

by polaroid_chic



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-09 01:31:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7781653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polaroid_chic/pseuds/polaroid_chic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The disadvantage of living almost forever, is that eventually there's no one left to do it with you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We will all go together when we go.

Natasha went first. A stray bullet to the throat in a drive by, she bled out within minutes, long before SHIELD were even aware that anything had gone wrong. She should have had back up, she should have been monitored, someone should have been there, all these things were screamed hoarsely at the agent tasked with breaking the news to them but none of them had been possible. Natasha hadn't been working for SHIELD at the time. She had been on holiday. Finally comfortable enough with her life to allow herself a short respite, she'd gone off grid, no one but Barton knowing she was taking three days to see the Russian National Ballet tour and reconnecting with her mother tongue in a quiet town in the Ukraine.

And Clint never quite forgave himself for that. 

He became a ghost for a while, going through the motions, the funeral, execution of her will, returning her ashes to the tower, all tasks he carried out with the worlds best poker face. Steve watched him, but dared not break through the facade to try to force him to open up, thought the man was coping in the only way he knew how. So he waited, and he made sure Clint knew he was there for him, they were all there for him when he was ready, but he didn't try to force himself into a part of the man's grieving process.

Thankfully for all of them, Tony had no such qualms.

It was two weeks after Natasha's funeral. Steve was sat in the tower, poring over historical reports of possible sightings of Bucky, updating his meticulously kept notes as he tried to piece together the man's actions as a HYDRA agent, mostly in an attempt to distract himself. The Avengers were grounded temporarily and he was still feeling the loss of his friend desperately every time she didn't wander through the room to make tea. So he worked, anything to keep him busy. He began to shuffle through pages he'd seen a hundred times, rearranging them yet again when the large window in front of him exploded inward in a massive shower of glass. He threw his hands up to cover his face just as the source of the windows downfall barrelled into him hard enough to send them both flying as the sofa upturned and span across the room.

Steve raised his head, defensive and ready to act only to pause in confusion as he realised he had a lapful of archer, and an extremely pissed off looking Tony advancing through the window with a whine of repulsors. Iron Man wasn't dressed in the full suit, but rather a combo of just boots and arm guards that Steve didn't think he'd ever seen before. Clint was in what looked like a three day old t-shirt and his boxers, but he was still scrambling up angrily as if he were going to fight Tony.

“Sorry about the entrance Cap,” Tony said mildly, his jaw clenched and facial muscles twitching as he held a facade over what Steve later guessed was a lot of rage. His hair was a windswept mess and his skin was turning pink from the outside wind Steve stared as he continued talking, oblivious to how manic he looked. “Extreme birdwatching, apparently hell on interior decorating-”

Clint snarled, jolting Steve out of his reverie. He was rolling away before Steve could grab him and throwing something at Tony, taking advantage of the armoured man's brief movement out of the way to feint and make a break for the door or air vents or somewhere, Steve was honestly beyond understanding what was happening at this point. He began to stand and lunge for Clint, deciding this would be a lot easier to untangle if he didn't let one party get away, but Tony clapped his hands together, releasing a shock wave that gave even Steve a splitting headache and forced him to lie back down as his head swam with vertigo. Clint also hit the floor heavily, but recovered much faster, whirling around to face Tony, who had stopped advancing but stood very casually blocking Clint's exit from the room by any means other than apparition.

“Oh I'm sorry,” Tony grinned and it did not reach his eyes. “Did I interrupt you?”

“Leave me alone” Clint spat, tense and poised to run at any second.

Tony didn't break flow for a minute, talking right on as if he hadn't heard him. “Hey Cap, I saw a hawk today.”

“Stark-” Steve started as Clint took a small step to lower his centre of gravity.

Tony raised one repulsor and trained it on Clint. “Ask me where I found the hawk Cap” he continued with eerie cheeriness.

Clint went deathly silent and still. Steve slowly rose to his feet, tense and unsure, but keeping his eyes trained on his team mates. Both men were on edge, their eyes darting and calculating as they stood off in front of each other, weighing up for a fight. 

“There I was just minding my own business, watching the security feed from the roof, for no particular reason, other than I have been watching you try this for a week you assh-”

Tony halted shakily mid shout, momentarily pausing to regain his cool.

“Anyway JARVIS and I were just taking in the view when Clint must've decided he needed something from my workshop and started a shortcut down the 50 or so floors.”

Clint twitched, and Tony fired to the left of him, anticipating the dodge when it came. Clint stumbled as thick cords wrapped round him like a net and bore him to the floor. He struggled for a moment, yelling in several languages phrases that Steve was fairly sure weren't complimentary. The ropes shrank tighter and tighter as he struggled, cocooning him. Eventually the archer curled up still, his face pressed into the floor, his body pulled as tightly to himself as he could manage.

Tony undid the gauntlets and let them drop off, walking across the room to sit down next to Clint with a weary sigh, rubbing his face and leaning back against the upturned sofa. Steve had never seen him look as tired as he did in that moment.

“Did you really think one of us wouldn't catch you?” Tony was talking softly to Clint now, the younger man still curled up with his face pressed into the floor. “I know I joked about it in poor taste but did we actually bury your brains with Natasha? Don't even answer that, I've only imagined the possibility of Natasha having a reason to haunt me for a second or so and already I'm scared beyond all reason.”

Steve slowly sat down on the other side of Clint. The marksman lay on the floor, and shook ever so slightly. Steve reached out unsure, wanting to offer his help to whatever Tony was trying to fix, but completely dumbfounded by the whole scene he had just witnessed. Tony glanced at him, his hand hovering in the air and silently rolled his eyes. He reached over silently and gently pushed Steve's hand down onto Clint's shoulder, squeezing both gently. Clint turned his face up at the two of them from the floor, his eyes red and his entire face raw with pain. 

“I hate you both,” he croaked, barely able to make it to the end of the sentence.

Tony shifted and pulled Clint's head onto his lap, carding his hands through the man's hair over and over again. It was a simple affection, one Steve now realised he had seen Natasha do for Clint whenever a mission went south, or Fury was haranguing him, or the shop were out of donuts, or anything he perceived to be awful happened. The pair would splay on the sofa, Clint grumbling and gesturing like a diva, bemoaning the world at large, while Natasha ignored him and raked through his hair until he calmed down and fell asleep.

Steve also realised he hadn't seen Clint sleep since they got the news.

The three men sat in silence for a while, in the wreckage of the living room. Tony typed texts into his phone and ignored Clint as the man cried, his shaking hands the only thing giving away that it was an act. Steve wondered how much he had gone through to be there when Barton had finally cracked. Steve had been so self absorbed in his own numb loss, he had missed the toll on his team mates, let them drift around each other instead of coming together. He squeezed Clint's shoulder again, tightly, and realised how close they had come to absolute devastation today.

“JARVIS?” The sound of his voice shocked both Tony and Clint, the former snapping around to look at him in suspicion.

“Yes, Captain Rogers?”

“I need you to order six toffee apples, and a few bottles of Russian vodka please.”

Tony stared at him, and Steve shrugged slightly.

“The first time I saw Natasha smile, it was because she had managed to get toffee stuck to Clint's face when he wasn't looking.” Steve explained. “I'd quite like to remember that smile...”

“There's only five-” Clint started hoarsely but Steve cut him off.

“Definitely six JARVIS. And could you call Bruce and Thor for me please and ask them to come up here.”

Tony smiled briefly at Steve, a little of the tension bleeding out of him.

There was a pause before the AI responded almost gently “Of course Captain Rogers.”

“And JARVIS have someone bring up some boxing gloves” Tony grinned up at the ceiling.

Clint laughed harshly then, and Steve smiled softly at the sound, but continued to look over him at Tony who also shrugged.

“First time that red headed she-devil came to my tower she took down a man 100lbs heavier than her in a boxing ring without putting a hair out of place.” Tony smiled to himself, replaying the memory in his head. “I will never – I never want to forget that raised eyebrow of polite derision because it was the backbone of so much of our love.”

Clint laughed again, his eyes still puffy, but the tears coming less and less now.

The three men sat in silence as JARVIS confirmed the addition to their requests.

“Unicorn slippers.” said Clint suddenly, and both men turned to look at him, both their hands still silently caressing his hair and shoulder.

“Budapest.” he said quietly and they asked him no more.

Bruce and Thor arrived a short while later and added their own items to the memory pile. Tony and Steve heaved Clint into a sitting position before the wrecked fireplace (“Oh hell no, you are staying trussed up like the turkey you are. I am not stretching the limits of my already fragile heart playing catch the pigeon again!”) and the men sat as a group, in the midst of the shattered room (a few bottles into the impromptu wake, Clint had tried to poetically compare the state of the furniture to their feelings. They'd all nodded and smiled when he looked happy with what he'd said, none with the heart to tell him they didn't understand his very broken Russian. Thor had translated it for them later and it had been as awful as they all could've hoped for. Steve played it at Natasha's grave a week later, crying silently even as he smiled at the image of her despairing face). They spoke for hours, sharing memories, and trying to remember the best of what their comrade had left with them. They drank late into the night, and into the next day, until all but Steve slept amongst the cushions Tony had salvaged. The items they had contributed now formed a small shrine, complete with photos which Tony and Clint had drunkenly added as the night went on.

Steve looked around at his friends, at the sleeping Clint, and vowed never to give them the horror of grieving alone again.

**Author's Note:**

> Not to sound like a cliche but this is the first fanfic I've ever written and I'm silly proud of it despite its flaws, so have it world. Feast your reading eyes.


End file.
